House of Embers
by ACOTARIST
Summary: Soon after his controversial rise to power as the High Lord of the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra meets a young woman who changes his life and comes to see him for who he really is despite his Court's centuries of conflict and misunderstanding. Will their relationship absolve him of his past and the family he was born into?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the universe of ****Sarah J. Maas**** or her **_**A Court of Thorns and Roses**_** trilogy. This story is inspired by the world and characters of ACOTAR.**

**CHAPTER 1**

Eris loathed his father. Absolutely rutting _loathed_ the creature. He supposed there was a time when Beron had not been so cruel— perhaps in his youth, before he had to beat his brothers down for the position of High Lord of the Autumn Court. Beron, the oldest and most awful High Lord. Rhysand and Feyre didn't have to prove their point to anyone in the meeting of the High Lords; Beron was greedy as he was evil, and his own broken family could attest to that.

But Beron was gone now. The Forest House was near empty of the Vanserras. One year ago, Eris had orchestrated his removal as High Lord with Rhysand and Feyre's help and Beron now seethed in the underbelly of the Court of Nightmares under the High Lord of the Night Court's careful watch. After centuries of mastering his pretense at being a prick and honing his reputation for cruelty to please his father, Eris had had enough of the Vanserra male idiocy and thrown three of his own brothers there to join their father after multiple failed assassination attempts on their part. Lucien was his only remaining brother still in the picture, and although they were never close he held Lucien in growing esteem. Lucien deserved happiness as much as he didn't deserve the vicious family he was born into, and Eris wished him the best with Elain. Their visit to the Forest House had been brief, but Eris had allowed Lucien to show Elain the hold of the Autumn Court so that she could meet the Lady.

Their mother still resided in the House. Eris remembered her wide smile and pearly laughter as it had once rung through the halls of the House as she chased him around in games of hide-and-seek when he was a child— but that glowing woman was now gone, her magic near diminished from the depressive stupor Beron had graced her. After Beron's fall she remained the shell of that lovely mother, but Eris was glad to know that, at least, she was now finally able to go about the House in peace, and would no longer be cowed by his father's shadow.

"Eris," she said, beckoning him over to the armchair in which she sat, unfinished embroidery in her lap. One pale hand was extended to him.

Snapping from his reverie, Eris gave his mother a small smile and came over, bending his knee slightly to speak to her. "Mother, can I get you anything? Is there anything that you need?" And he hated how her eyes flickered with a humble surprise when he asked that, every time he asked her, because nobody had ever shown her kindness when his father was near. He had only been able to do so when his father was not around, but that had been rare.

But she smiled back at him— a soft, if not sad smile from mother to son. "No, Eris, but thank you for asking." She straightened the front of his jacket with a gentle tug. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Tell me, Mother, and it shall be done immediately."

She cast her eyes down, then looked up again into his russet stare. Her firstborn. "There is a flower that blooms in the caves around this time. Please, son, could someone find me this flower and bring it home to me so that I can make a potion with it? I recall it being singular and beautiful, but cannot remember was it looks like in detail. I don't quite feel like I'm up for the journey to find it," she added apologetically.

Eris briefly laid his hand on hers, which was resting on the leather arm of her great chair, and said, "Consider it done. I'll go out myself for some fresh air and exercise." Her gentle smile was all he needed. He knew exactly which flower she sought, and why she couldn't bring herself to collect it in person. He didn't wait for her to thank him before he strode out the door and told the House servants and guards to keep vigilant in his absence.

The caves were a long distance away from the Forest House, but after winnowing to the very edge of the woods, Eris took this chance to breathe in the fall and soak in its vibrant array of colors.

He breathed in the fall around him in reverence to all that was beautiful and bright in his otherwise cursed heritage. His was a Court of transition, of harvest; but while Beron had worked the tenants hard and taxed their farms harshly, Eris had opted to revise the labor system to appease the lesser Fae who worked the land so dutifully under his father's tyranny. Less money was spent on weaponry (his father already already had an impressive armory) and more was spent on research and new farming technology. The new High Lord granted his tenants and their families holidays of no work, and had additionally lessened the taxes Beron had reaped for too long. Solstice was approaching in a few months, and as the leaves of the Autumn Court turned more yellow than red, his people had begun to form a community. The harvest, in turn, beckoned in generosity. He could smell it in the slightly misty air. Even as a child, Eris had loved the perfume of fallen leaves, the crisp aroma of autumnal flora intertwined.

But right now, Eris realized with a jolt, there was another scent too— one that did not belong here. All of his senses sharpened to locate its source. The flower could wait. Though the scent was unfamiliar, he had to see if it led him to friend or foe. No one had walked through the woods of the Autumn Court freely without Beron's knowledge. Eris was determined to keep his borders more open than his father did as High Lord, but he had to know what this stranger was doing so close to his family home.

Besides, the thrill of the hunt sang through his bones. Eris followed the scent— an earthy willow and amber, with a hint of bergamot— and brought forth a small blaze flickering in one hand just in case. It wasn't just his first year as a High Lord that taught him caution; he'd been looking out for his own survival, _especially_ among his own brothers, for centuries.

He stopped dead in his tracks. A rustle. He heard a rustle, the lightest crunch of fallen leaves, on his right—

And took a single step back so that a very small dagger whistled just past his nose.

The dagger had barely just embedded itself in a tree trunk with a _thunk_ before Eris, snarling, sent a blast of crimson heat flying in the assassin's direction.

Tree trunks and branches hissed in the wake of the High Lord's power, burnt limbs smoldering and crumbling into ash. The smell of burning wood and seared foliage filled his nose, and the falling embers and ashes from his heat gave way to the returned silence of the autumn wilderness. Steam rose from a small pool beyond, in which the attacker had gone down with a wet crash.

Eris snarled as he approached the assassin, who stirred feebly and attempted to crawl fully out of the water before finally collapsing. That dagger throw had been no joke. He'd get closer, and one more blast from his flame—

Again, Eris stopped dead in his tracks. A powerful, indescribable feeling had struck him so that all the hairs on his neck stood, and his chest caved in to something akin to devastation as the High Lord of Autumn stared down at the most beautiful female he had ever seen.

**Hi reader, ACOTARIST here! I'm new to writing and publishing fanfiction, although I've been writing my whole life and am inspired by authors like Sarah J. Maas. Please feel free to leave reviews! Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for more on Eris! - ACOTARIST**


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the universe of ****Sarah J. Maas**** or her **_**A Court of Thorns and Roses**_** trilogy. This story is inspired by the world and characters of ACOTAR.**

**CHAPTER 2**

Eris gulped for air, for more of the willow and amber and bergamot. He was drowning in it but could not get enough. She must have been thrown backward into the pool upon impact. How she deflected the blow, he wasn't sure— but he couldn't think about that while looking at her face, let alone breathe.

His eyes narrowed in recognition of what this sharp feeling was. He had heard from other mates males what the snap is like. But while his mind was racing, telling him _nonono she can't be_, his body propelled him to walk toward her, to be closer.

She was long of body and of leg, but small and compact. Perfect for stealth. Half her face was breathing in the earth of the forest floor. Her wet black hair had probably been bound at some point, but his blast had freed it from its constraint. It was very long and spilled everywhere like wavy rivers of ink. Eris kneeled to observe her, marvel at her wild beauty as he carefully peeled a wet lock from her cheek and tucked it behind the small white shell of her ear.

A round-edged ear. His mate was human.

_Shit_. Eris swore under his breath. He was knee-deep in utter shit.

But thinking of that wouldn't do much; he had to get the girl to safety. His personal lodge was the closest roof in their current proximity, and it was the only place he knew was safe for her to remain away from the prying eyes of his fickle Court.

He picked the girl up off the ground and wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. She was light in his arms. Bits of forest soil dropped and her legs dripped water as she as lifted up. Her head lolled against his chest, and some earth was smudged onto his shirt from it.

Eris tried very hard not to look at her— much of her simple leathers and white tunic had burned away, leaving little to the imagination as the wet white rags of her shirt clung to her breasts. He glimpsed a rosy peak as her chest rose and fell in her lack of consciousness. It had hardened from the cool breeze of fall whistling around them in the forest, and the tantalizing sensuality threatened to break him. Eris tried to unsee the petal of delicate pink surrounding the duskier point of her nipple, and the thought of pleasing her there with his mouth nearly overtook him for the longest second of his life.

Instead, he wrapped his jacket and carefully folded its front over so that she was no longer exposed. She was so desirable, with her long black hair, pale skin and long limbs. _How could she be his?_

He had seen also seen something else: scars. As a firebringer, and as the most powerful fire-handling Far alive, he knew the lasting marks of burns when he saw them. The pebbled texture along the right side of her ribs and between those rose-tipped breasts did nothing to diminish her beauty; they rather branded her as is, a foreshadowing of the male who would find her. She was perfect, for all she had suffered, and he would not let anyone hurt her further in her lifetime. A primal instinct to protect, to seek vengeance, strengthened his resolve as he took in the marks of ropes long healed snaking around her wrists like warrior's bracelets. His breathing, already uneven, became more so with the wrath he felt at that moment, thinking of his mate's tormentors and how she must have suffered.

"Never again," he whispered into her hair.

Soft waves of her scent— the willow, amber and gentle touch of bergamot— wafted up to his nose and locked arrested his senses. _Shit_. Ignoring the roaring in his ears, in his blood, he looked ahead to where the House of Embers was and winnowed into its premises.

Eris landed gracefully at the front of a large wooden cabin of polished pine. Tall windows stretched between the first and second floors and reflected the surrounding foliage with architectural grace. The burgundy door, ever inviting with its gold handle, was the only luxurious component to the outside of the lodge. Trees and bushes surrounded the structure, and birds chirped in the depths of their leaves.

The House of Embers was his own private lodge away from the complexities of the Forest House. When he had built it two centuries ago, he had warded it against his father and brothers and concealed it so that it would not be discovered; it would appear and be available only to him. He had never brought anyone else into the House of Embers besides his mother, who he had once brought in to recuperate from the blows of Beron's fists.

He'd been whipped for that for three weeks straight. His Lady mother had tearfully extracted a promise from him to never hide her again in fear of Beron discovering his eldest son's one and only safe haven.  
Eris entered with the girl in his arms.

The domestic magic of the cabin already had a fire crackling at the fireplace and hot food— rabbit stew accompanied by collard greens and seasonal roots— waiting on the refurbished wood that made the dining table. Everything was as he had left it three weeks ago. His unfinished novel still lay, cracked open where he'd left off reading, on one arm of two great leather armchairs.

He made for the bedroom upstairs— there was only one bedroom, and the other room on the second floor was a small study, with a washroom in between— but paused, looking down at the girl's face. So young. He sniffed. And dirty. On top of her alluring personal scent, she smelled of soil and ash.

At his silent command, the large basin in the washroom filled with hot water and a very thick layer of bubbles smelling of sage and cedarwood. He went about doing his work.

Eris had almost reached the final chapter of his novel when felt her awareness shift and smelled her instant fear. He slowly lowered the book, listening. His heart thundered in his chest. She had awoken.

She seemed to sit upright in his bed in a stupor, but soon leapt out from under the covers and spent some time rummaging through the bedroom for anything she might find useful, and had decided on wrenching a window curtain rod down to use it as a makeshift weapon. He heard her creeping down the stairs, the wood groaning softly under her step, and he felt her flinch at the sound.

She hesitated when she saw the table of food— he _felt_ her hunger— but she didn't let temptation get in her way as she quietly tried the doorknob. She swore softly.

And she whipped back around, quick and alert with the curtain rod raised high, as the High Lord of Autumn descended with one hand on the stairway's wooden rail, the glowing embers of his russet eyes a death promise on his beautiful face.

"Welcome to the House of Embers," Eris said, his voice deep and dark like darkness surrounding licks of flame.

Her dark eyes widened and the rod she held began to shake, but the girl raised it higher and checked her stance as she rasped, "Is this your shirt I'm wearing?"

Eris blinked. That was unexpected. "Yes, it is."

"Why am I not wearing my own clothes?" She gulped as he stepped closer. She raised her bar, poised to strike—

"There wasn't much left of them. And I don't keep female clothing in my personal lodge." The curtain rod grew hot in her hands and she dropped it, biting back a yelp as the metal glowed red with the heat of his power.

"Who changed me out? Bathed me?"

"I did. You're welcome."

"You— you touched me?" Her hands— slender white hands with palms blistered from his heat on the curtain rod she'd held seconds before — bunched the V of his shirt closed at her front as she backed away with every step he drew nearer. Her bare legs, which were long and lovely and spotted with scars, looked like they were going to give out under her at any moment. The scent of her fear was more potent at that moment than the willow and amber of her very being. She was terrified of him, and perhaps had been violated before. She was clearly no stranger to capture and torture, and from he'd seen of her body she had a Fae friend somewhere who healed her and trained her in basic combat. She was terrified, and she had feared for her life before.

Yet she did not break eye contact with him, not even once. _She was so achingly young_, _and so vulnerable as a human female_, Eris thought, but her eyes spoke of lifetimes of suffering and hope. Her dark eyes held a certain kind of energy in them, a fire, despite the wariness that she had honed in the Fae realm.

She reminded him of Feyre, Eris realized. Reminded him of the stories others told about her when Rhys had spirited her away to the Night Court— and she reminded him of Morrigan. Of the female his family—_he himself_— had acted against in such vile ways.

Eris cleared his throat. "Your name." He was being a prick, he knew, by using a command rather than a question. But, the fool that he was, he was going to self-combust if he didn't know what her name was.

The girl neither moved nor answered him. He didn't answer her, so he supposed she didn't feel obligated to answer him. The space between them was taut, the atmosphere electrifying, for what might have been quite a few minutes. The tension dissolved when her stomach let out a rumble so loud she flushed and put a hand on her belly as if to quiet it. Eris felt one corner of his mouth quirk upward.

She clenched her jaw. "Briar," she said. "My name is Briar." And her gorgeous dark eyes were suddenly cast down, and some hurt glimmered there. As if submitting herself to her inferiority as a human to a High Fae. The stark blackness of her long lashes lay in contrast to her skin, which now bore the faintest blush on her high, delicate cheekbones.

_Briar_. The name crashed into him, _through_ him, like a bell. The name of his mate. Only she didn't know how beautiful she was, or that she was his mate and that he had already been struggling with his new inexplicable magnetism to her, but knew that she was alone with a strange Fae male who maybe had had his way with her.

_Briar_. Damn him. His legs had been walking toward her, slowly and silently, this whole time. He couldn't keep away. And now he was directly in front of her, and could smell the willow and amber and bergamot mixed in with her fear and— what was that other scent? It called to him differently than the willow and amber did, and played more on the bergamot, with something else, something mustier—

He snarled softly when it hit him, lush and sweet: the beginnings of female arousal.

Eris knew Briar's arousal was instinctive, purely due to his beauty, his presence, his power. He knew it wasn't a result of her direct desire for him. But this logic was becoming increasingly clouded by his need for her, his need to sweep her up in his arms and take her back to the bed upstairs to taste those coral-colored lips she was now licking out of a mixture of fear and anticipation. She looked ravishing right then, breathing shallowly, distrust simmering in all her fine features, his shirt seemingly huge as it cloaked over her much smaller frame. He could smell himself on her as the fabric of the shirt shifted over her pearly skin; he could smell himself on her body right now, over those narrow collarbones and in the earthy dampness under her small breasts. Her hands still held the V of his shirt front together for modesty, and they trembled. He could see in those dark eyes with their ridiculous lashes that she had marked her own body's reaction to him and was confused and embarrassed by it. He wished she wasn't. Her maidenly shame was more enticing than she realized.

Briar's stomach insisted on sustenance once more. Eris gave himself one split second to collect his wits and lace his mental trousers back up, he felt like such a goddamn fool. He schooled his features into a mask of cool indifference. This was the mask of the bored, condescending male everyone outside this Court thought he was. Eris the snake. He looked down his nose at her. "Eat something _now_," he snarled in her face. "I'll give you an hour to do so, and to come up with an explanation as to what you are doing in my Court and why."

He didn't give her a chance to reply before he swept out the door, leaving orange sparks cracking and fading after him.

**Hi reader, ACOTARIST here! I'm new to writing and publishing fanfiction, although I've been writing my whole life and am inspired by authors like Sarah J. Maas. Please feel free to leave reviews! Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for more on Eris and Briar! - ACOTARIST**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the universe of ****Sarah J. Maas**** or her **_**A Court of Thorns and Roses**_** trilogy. This story is inspired by the world and characters of ACOTAR.**

**CHAPTER 3**

The cave wildflower his mother requested was easy to find. Not many amaranthas bloomed while the Fae queen who took its name reigned her court Under the Mountain— it was as if the flowers had shied away from their name in terror, and for the next fifty years had refused to grow while she kept the Courts prisoner. After her defeat at the hands of Feyre Archeron, still a human, the black-and-scarlet amaranthas were once again sighted among the rocks and boulders of Prythian.

Eris frowned a little as he tucked three of the blooms into a jacket pocket for his Lady mother. What potion required the amarantha as an ingredient? His mother was a master potioneer, having been taught the craft by a friend of her family's who hailed from the libraries of the Day Court. While his potioneering was nowhere as accurate as his mother's, he did not recall any potion requiring the plant at all.

It was time to head back to the lodge. _Let's see what brought her here_.

He could still scent her from afar. It was like a part of her followed him wherever he went, ever since he had first laid eyes on her a few short hours ago. The willow of her wavy dark hair, the amber of her warm pale skin, the bergamot of—

Suddenly, Eris found himself slipping along a copper-colored cord, a new thread twine around his gift of fire.

Panic was the foremost emotion, coupled with confusion._ Think think think think. This can't be worse than Hybern. He's not like that monster, or that monster's servants who tormented me when I hung from that rack. I can still feel the ropes around my wrists and ankles sometimes… and when Feyre and her friends had helped me escape, I had cried like a baby when my hands were cut free. I may have been scarred, but I could still play the harp._

_He's not like the ilk that killed my friends. I refuse to believe it, despite what they say about him. I saw his eyes. _

_What if he touched me?_

_I swear I remember the bath— parts of it. My head had hurt a lot. His hands were gentle, and he never touched me. He'd just sluiced the water over me and washed my hair. It had all smelled heavenly. He was careful. He had even put some kind of oil in my hair and massaged it into the strands. Was he thinking..._

A snap_. My scars are enough to repel any man, let alone a High Fae male. Let alone the rutting High Lord of the Autumn Court. His stare had lingered on the marks on my legs, I saw him stare there. I know he saw._

_I've never seen eyes like his. They were the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen… the unblinking eyes of a fire serpent. _

_I felt like the longer I stared at them, I would get lost, like staring at an enchanted jewel in those stories Grammy told us when we were little. How naive we were back then…_

_He must've noticed that I'm at the crux of my moon cycle… Utterly humiliating. My knees legs were soaked almost to my knees when he rushed out the door. And he had stood so close to me, I couldn't stop it, and I thought he was going to eat me alive… He smelled of teak and tobacco. Smoky, dangerous and male. I could feel the heat emanating from his being, and sparks in his eyes, like from a fire, had sputtered and died when he told me to eat and explain myself… _Another snap as Briar cut off that train of thought.

_It… it doesn't matter. I don't care. I can't think about Eris Vanserra right now, and he's in the way. I can't return to Kal and Viv. And Nathanyel will have to take my departure as a sign that I cannot— I cannot give him what he wants of me. _

A low snarl, feral and primal in its predatory intent, ripped out of Eris before he could get his instinct in check. A young Fae warrior named Nathanyel, was it. He supposed he shouldn't care, since her choices would be hers alone to make. She rejected this Nathanyel's advances anyway.

But what rendered him absolutely irate was Hybern.

He had heard that when Feyre stole back her sister Elain right from Hybern's own war camp prior to the last battle, she had also spirited away a young human girl with Jurian's assistance. And apparently Feyre has worn that poisonous bitch Ianthe's face while at it. Hearing about this had strengthened Eris' resolve to convince his father to ally with Prythian in the war against Hybern— he, like, Rhys, was not a Loyalist.

So Briar was that girl. Formerly a Child of the Blessed. She'd reportedly been sent to the Winter Court under Kallias and Viviane's wings— so what was she doing here now?

He winnowed to the House of Embers in a whirl of sparks and flame.

He was ready for her side tackle as soon as he walked through the front door of his lodge, and it was a battle to keep his fire in check as they rolled and crashed through the parlor room. A sharp pain bit his side, but a nonchalant flick of his wrist had the kitchen knife in her hand skittering across the room, and a blast of measured flame pinned her against the wall at her wrists and knees. They did not burn her, which she seemed to realize after some struggling, but they kept her in place and she had no way to escape the High Lord prowling toward her now, a thoughtful hand on his side and his beautiful face full of wrath.

Eris looked down at his hand. Blood was on his fingers. His eyes slowly raised to meet hers, their expression unfathomable.

"Is that how you thank me for the rabbit stew, human?" he purred. That alone was even more terrifying than when he had snarled in her face.

Briar at least had the sense to look terrified. Silent tears ran down her face but she again did not break eye contact with Eris as he studied her. She still only wore his shirt. The front of it was falling open.

Her eyes widened with terror as he drew near. She emitted a single shaky whimper of fear as Eris raised his bloodied hand toward her nearly-exposed chest— and fixed the shirt so that she was fully covered. "You know who I am." It was not a question. Tears tracked down her face and down onto her neck a she nodded. Those tears reminded him that he was vile, hated and feared. His own mate feared him.

"At least you're not hungry anymore," he said rather lamely. "Now tell me why you are here." This was the command of a High Lord.

At his unspoken will, the flames chaining her vanished and she slid to the ground, looking up at him. Her eyes stayed on his as she scooted away from him sit, shivering, next to the fireplace. He saw her delicate white throat bob as she swallowed. Then she let out a surprised shout as a cloud of bright flame appeared and carried her to one of the leather armchairs instead. "You could sit properly, you know" he said drily. "I won't keep you a prisoner here." He chucked a thickly knit blanket at her.

"Is that why you locked me in while you went off on your own?" she shot back at him. Gods, she had such a lovely voice. Rather raspy and deep.

His response came slowly. "No. I thought it best you eat something before we talk about why you are here, in the Autumn Court." His eyes sharpened on hers. "You are a little more than a day's ride away from my family home. Far enough in distance, but a close winnow. Usually my sentries alert me when a stranger enters the edge of the forest, but you just happened to slip in—" she did not flinch— "where there was no sentry. And there I was, running an errand for my mother. That's when you threw your dagger so charmingly my way," he huffed with a slight smile.

_Gods, his smile was gorgeous_. Briar's inner voice seemed breathless in spite of her fear. _I can't tell him I simply needed to get away from the Winter Court. For all they've done for me there, I cannot stay in Prythian any longer. I don't deserve to._ "You weren't the one blasted off your feet," was her retort.

"How did you avoid getting burned, anyway? Any other human would have been burnt to a crisp."

Briar blinked. She clearly hadn't thought about why she wasn't dead from his fire. She looked adorable, really, sitting wide-eyed in the armchair in his shirt with a thick woolen blanket stacked on her lap. The flames of the fireplace illuminated her flawless face and rendered her ink-black hair a deep reddish brown.

For now, he had the answers he needed. Before his breathing could become uneven from simply looking at her, Eris crossed his arms and said, "You are welcome to stay here for as long as you need to. This house will keep you warm and well fed, and there will always be hot water for you to use. If you need anything, just wish for it and it will appear." He gestured his hand vaguely toward the rest of the lodge. "I will return in two days."

Eris had turned his back and was already at the door when she spoke.

"Wait."

He he looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. Acting the cool, uncaring male. He didn't trust himself with her, and kept up the act somewhat so that she couldn't see what a profound effect her presence had on him.

"Wait— my High Lord," she rasped out. Every word seemed like an effort for her to get out, as if her chest was heavy with unsaid words and inexplicable emotions. "_Why are you doing this?_"

Her question sent a bolt of self-loathing through his soul. He could feel himself mentally reeling from her words, what she asked, and who had asked it before centuries ago. Another female, one he did not claim for himself, but should have sheltered when she needed it.

His eyes closed for a long moment before he opened them again and allowed himself to let out a huff of humorless laughter.

"You do not need to call me High Lord. Eris is fine," he told her.

Later at the Forest House, his fingers shook a little as they drew the amaranthas out of his jacket pocket to give to his mother.

He did not wait two days. He simply could not. It was pure agony to not see her, not smell the willow and amber. He didn't even want to _think _about the mustier bergamot scent.

He tried to block out images of Briar at his lodge. He thought she would leave as soon as he was out of there, but he was proven wrong. He would inadvertently glimpse into her life through the mating bond, swallowing the twinge of guilt he felt by looking: sweet visions of her reading the novel he'd almost finished, curled up in the armchair with the knitted blanket and a mug of steaming spearmint tea in her hands; of her hands applying oils to her skin to ward off dryness; of her lips parting ever so slightly as she fell asleep under the furs of his bed. _His bed._ Briar slept in his bed. He saw a thick braid of ebony hair hanging off the edge of the bed as she slept. She looked so young and vulnerable sleeping in his bed like that— her arms raised so that her palms rested face-up on either side of her head— he saw the thin blush-colored cotton gown she wore to sleep. In the privacy of the House of Embers, she often didn't bother to take it off in the daytime but rather chose to wear a thick mohair cardigan over it.

Briar looked at peace. At home in the House of Embers.

He had to go see her. If he didn't right now, he would set his surroundings ablaze.

When he winnowed to the front of his lodge hours later, she was outdoors, dark eyes wide. She was wearing a different shift than the one he'd seen. It was a muted mint green speckled with a dainty floral pattern, and the warm shawl of cream-colored wool she'd worn around her shoulders had half slipped to the ground as she'd picked wildflowers around the House of Embers. The bright autumn sun kissed her from high above was soaked by the darkness of her braided hair and rendered her thin shift nearly see-through.

With a herculean effort to grasp at self-control, Eris resisted the urge to tear that shift off and unbind that glossy braid. He couldn't want her this much already. He couldn't show it. Instead he chose to sneer at her, and flick his eyes down her torso and back up in a display of brazen male arrogance. "Is this comely little milkmaid the same hellion who stabbed my side just a day and a half ago?" he asked as he strode forward to walk past her.

"You came early. Are— are you staying here for the night?" Briar clutched the wildflowers she had picked as she followed him to the lodge. The blooms were pale and milky like her skin.

"Well, it's my house, isn't it?" he snarled at her as he swung open the burgundy door.

He stilled as the mixed scents of the House of Embers hit his nose. Her scent intertwined with his, like the sparks of his magic bleeding into the mortality of her existence. Intimate. Far too intimate. His nostrils flared slightly as he breathed it all in.

"I— I made bread and jam," she said rather helplessly. "Would you like some?"

Her offer of food, a meal— it was too much. Coming here had been a mistake.

_He looks like a red-haired angel of vengeance. I don't know why I felt like I had to wait for him; it made no sense. I shouldn't have stayed here, but all of my instincts were telling me to stay, I'm so confused_—

Eris left his mate standing at the open door as he stormed upstairs into his study and slammed the door. Once inside, he bent over, gripped his hair, and let out a roar that made the foliage of Autumn tremble all around them.

**Hi reader, ACOTARIST here! I'm new to writing and publishing fanfiction, although I've been writing my whole life and am inspired by authors like Sarah J. Maas. Please feel free to leave reviews! Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for more on Eris and Briar! - ACOTARIST**


	4. Chapter 4

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in the universe of ****Sarah J. Maas**** or her **_**A Court of Thorns and Roses**_** trilogy. This story is inspired by the world and characters of ACOTAR.**

**CHAPTER 4**

_Nightfall now. I've been trying to leave this house for the past two days._

_But every time I began collecting things to continue the journey south, I would suddenly become aware of the house I'm in, and the house seemed to breathe all around me. I got the strangest feeling, the strongest pull, an undertow sweeping me in to stay here. Don't leave , the house seemed to tell me. Don't leave._ Wait for it,_ it said._

_Frankly, I would hate to depart from this place. There's a peace here, a comfort and sort of quiet, that I've never felt anywhere else in Prythian— not even in the tundras of the Winter Court. I'm sure as hell not going to miss the cold there. I'd chucked my furs off as soon as the snows had given way to soil beneath my boots as I traveled on foot. Kal and Viv have looked after me for far too long, and after staying in Winger under their supervision for some years, I'd become an obligation to them. Of course, Viv insisted that wasn't the case._

_But no matter what she said, and how kindly she and Kallias have treated me, I felt guilty for being useless, being someone they had to watch over, being human, being useless. Powerless, useless._

_So I left. Maybe I'm a piece of trash for doing this, but I'd left and written them a letter telling them I'd decided to return to the human realms. They'd understand— I didn't really have any other close friends in the Winter Court besides Nathanyel… until he ruined it with his confession. Damned Fae males._

_So here I am in Eris Vanserra's personal home away-from-home._

_It was perfect._

_I've never felt so content to be by myself. Here in these woods, everything called to me. Called my name. I could almost feel the soft winds outside whisper comfortingly as I looked around. The fall colors and crisp crunch of leaves had beckoned me into the forest en route to where the Wall once stood; and this particular House was everything I could ever want in a home, free to live my own life as time passes me by._

_The male attached to it, though… I don't know what to make of him. He's a menace in some aspects, but he hadn't taken liberties in the bath and he brought me to the House of Embers so that I may recover. There was something in his expression I couldn't decipher when he'd looked back over his shoulder at me and said he'd return… and he'd whipped forward out the door, his red hair flashing brightly before he disappeared, as if it burned his eyes to look at me any longer._

_It's hard to look him in the eye, too. I managed only because I was afraid he'd be the villain they all said he was. But despite his snarls and cold condescension in conversation, the High Lord of Autumn did not once threaten me, and he did not strike back when I stabbed him with the kitchen knife. He was vicious in combat, sure, I could see it in his swift movements; but he was also almost kind. He was constantly on edge, constantly vigilant in upkeeping his cold mask, as if he reveled in distance and dreaded closeness. But I could see that same unspoken emotion in his stare, and his face would open up for the briefest moment before the mask would slide back into place. The way he deliberately covered me when his shirt was opening at the front…_

_His shirt, the way it smells… it was so hard to take it off._

_He is so, so beautiful._

_I hate myself for admitting this, but he leaves me breathless._

He snarled and shook his head. Conflict surged within him and emitted a numb roaring in his ears that he could not control when Briar was near. At least he knew that she, too, was similarly affected.

Eris gripped his hair in frustration. How did males go about claiming their mates if their mates didn't even know the bond even existed between them? How did Rhysand? Didn't Rhys pine after Feyre for a good part of a year before they were properly mated? He looked outside, assessing the slightly swaying trees and their warm colors as if they held the answer to his conundrum.

_Briar_. She was so young, so innocent, an outsider in this realm and possibly in her own. He knew what that felt like— how it felt to be watched by everyone. To constantly be tested, never showing weakness— how it felt to be alone.

Rhys had been blessed to be surrounded by his Inner Circle when he brought Feyre to Velaris; not by the ghosts of bloodthirsty males, a damaged mother, and the suspicious remnants of a rotten, poisonously competitive Court. Eris, on the other hand, could not afford to take that time, pull the effort, to get close to Briar. His beautiful, impressionable, human mate.

Eris closed his eyes and exhaled in one long huff before straightening and pulling his hair back with a leather strip. He would not pine. He could not show anyone, not even his mother, that he would burn the world down to its core if any harm came to this young human girl.

—

Briar was back in her armchair when he came downstairs to join her. Her armchair, Eris thought with a wryly, as if she belongs here already.

She may as well had belonged in his house. Under the chunky knit throw she was dozing off, her head lolling a bit to one side, her raven hair slipping out from its braid in inky tendrils his fingers itched to touch. She was mostly covered by the enormous throw, but slim calves tapered into narrow ankles and delicate feet that were bare and resting on the fire-warmed rug. Thin, slightly raised white scars encircled her ankles— they matched those on her wrists. Eris felt his eyes glow with anger as he thought about where she'd gotten those scars, and how their source would haunt her memories for the rest of her life.

A bowl with cold dregs of soup sat on the dining table nearby, accompanied by a crust of bread and some herbed butter and jam. Eris walked to the table, quietly as to not disturb her, and sniffed at the food. She made all of it except the butter. He opted for some roasted vegetables he found in a pot on the stove, which was created by the domestic magic of his lodge, and paired it with some poultry and a glass of autumnsweet wine. The butter he put a dollop of on the side of his plate.

She stirred soon after he'd finished eating. Her eyes fluttered open, their dark depths unfocused at first, and then met his gaze from across the parlor.

_He glows when he's near fire_, he heard Briar think groggily. He didn't say anything. Just stared at her, one large hand swirling his glass on the wooden surface of the dining table.

"Sleep well?" he heard himself ask. His face burned from the embarrassment of not knowing what else to say. What an idiot.

"I don't even remember falling asleep," Briar replied. "I must have needed some shut-eye after all the drama of you rushing away upstairs and yelling your lungs out earlier. I couldn't even take a bath," she said pointedly, "in case you saw me and at some point decided I was going to be your dinner instead." _You looked that ferocious_.

Eris simply kept swirling his glass. It was a very subtle movement, very small, but the constant turn of wine kept him in check while he looked at her, soaked in her radiant presence. Briar. His Briar. And she didn't know it yet, but he already belonged to her, too. "The Fae have their frustrations, just as I'm sure humans do," here said rather simply. "Especially Fae males. So, please excuse my dramatics from afternoon, but it doesn't seem like you were scared." He raised his glass slightly in her direction, holding her back eyes with his, before taking a sip. She blushed.

"You Fae males," she muttered. "So sensitive." A corner of his mouth twitched upward at her words.

_Somehow I didn't feel like I had to be scared_, he heard her think. _In fact… his being here, his presence in the house, rather completes it. Like he's the missing piece to a larger, warmer picture_. Briar looked away and instead took a sip of her cold tea. _I doubt ridiculous. He would laugh at me if I told him any of this, I know he would. I would, if I were him_.

He watched her, his face now devoid of any expression, until she met his eyes. Once. Twice. And he felt her recoil a little bit as she stood abruptly, chucking the throw off her lap, and announced, "I'm going to wash up and go to bed." He didn't say anything.

She waited. He watched as her cheeks blossomed with a slight girlish pink— adorable, really, though he hated to admit it— and after s few long moments of tender silence he realized what she was asking him to confirm.

He cleared his throat. "Go ahead. Take the bed, as you've claimed it already. I'll sleep here."

"Here? In this room? But there's no place for you to sleep…"

"I have a cot in my study. That'll do for me," he replied. What he didn't want to point our was the study's proximity to the bedroom. The thought of sleeping so close to her was already tormenting him. Her scent was maddening enough as it was, and it had become stronger since she stayed close to the warm flickering fire at the hearth. The smell of her was on everything in this house. He would go mad.

She waited for him to continue, but when he didn't offer anything more as explanation she finally said, "Fine. Goodnight then." Eris didn't even acknowledge her exit but kept his eyes unwavering on the flames in the fireplace. He hadn't stopped swirling his glass. The wine must be lukewarm by now, but he didn't care.

He heard Briar's footsteps retreat and creak softly up the stairs. Waited till she finished using the restroom and clicked the bedroom door shut. He could smell the facial oils she used as her moisturizer. Could smell the way it was absorbed by her natural Willow, amber and the slight bergamot. That alone would be enough to drive any male mad, but no . Eris felt his nostrils flare a bit. He was not like other males; he wouldn't give in to his desires, especially if it meant pushing his agenda into her. He hated other males for thinking they were entitled to females. It didn't matter if the female in question was a mate; he'd seen enough of the suffering his mother had quietly endured at the hands of his father to disgust him to male entitlement.

_Why are you doing this?_ Briar's words from two days ago clanged through him. Only one other female had ever asked him that, and the memory was not a pleasant one. What happened with the Morrigan had haunted him for centuries, and he'd swallowed his guilt and shame in regards to her treatment under both his and her family. He'd still never told anyone the full story on why he failed to help Mor when her worm of a father abandoned her to Eris on the border of this same forest. Eris recalled that it wasn't far from here.

If he and Briar were to pursue… something, whatever it was, together, he would have to elucidate to her his family's backward history. How people like Mor had suffered from the ambitions and shortcomings of the Autumn Court. What he would be bringing her into by keeping her close. He snarled to himself, shaking his head, and finished the glass off with a single gulp.

No. Impossible. There wasn't going to be anything between them, and Eris had no desire to chain an innocent human girl to the rotten core of the Autumn Court.

He had to make sure she was gone, and soon— gone far away where it was safe, and far away from _him_.

He'd ask her to leave tomorrow. 

— 

So he couldn't believe his senses when the door to his study creaked open, slowly but with purpose, to reveal Briar in a fetching nightgown. It was just shy of dawn and the deep purple of the skies were beginning to reveal the outlines of trees outside his study window. He hadn't gotten a blink of sleep. Not with her so near, her scent all around him.

This gown was actually quite modest, like the others she wore— a thin mint-green cotton, fine and soft, gently speckled with daisies. In her arms she clutched her cream woolen shawl. She padded in barefoot. She looked like a vision: her long hair was draped over one shoulder in a thick braid, and a faint draft from the nearby window hardened the peaks of her breasts. Eris could see their dusky color through the thin cotton.

Eris sat up. Briar blushed at the sight of his broad shoulders and solid structure, honed by centuries of being Baron's first son and best warrior. He smelled the bergamot— it hit him hard this time— and opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing when she whispered, "Eris."

He froze. The air between them became static, electrified, and hot: heat was emanating from him, so affected was he by her soft announcement. He could not believe it when she floated over to where he sat upright on his narrow cot, her shawl forgotten on the floor of the study, and perched lightly close to his pillow. He could not breathe when she leaned over, causing a whiff of bergamot to cloud his— his everything— to bring a careful, barely shaking hand to his face. Her finger seared his lower lip, her dark eyes— a very dark brown, he realized now that she was so close— burned into his very soul. And when she brought her lips to his, his hand jumped into her braid to let that gorgeous hair loose. Her hair scorched his hands and arms as he stroked its tresses and marveled at how the soft silk of it all slipped out of his hands like an unattainable dream, and her soft coral lips ignited in him a desperate need for more of that willow, more of that amber, and certainly more of that seductive bergamot that signaled her wet heat. Eris could tell from that first kiss that she had never done this before, and perhaps still didn't what she doing right now. What torture she was putting him through.

His hands seemingly moved on their own accord and he nudged her lips apart and claimed the depths of her sweet mouth with his own. Briar made a small noise, not unlike a whimper, as she felt his hands explore her: one went to one breast, where it stroked the swollen tip over the thin fabric, and the other to her backside to push her onto his lap, splaying her slender, scarred legs apart to wrap around his waist. He broke their honey-sweet kiss to bring his hot mouth to the other breast and gave her a long and very gentle suck through the cotton. And with a rush of moisture, a heavy wave of bergamot reached him as she let out a little cry and bucked and ground her hips against his. She kept making those delicious little sounds as he patiently worshipped those perfect little breasts with his mouth. While sucking, biting and licking, he kept one hand on the small of her back to keep her from moving away. Her arms had wrapped themselves around his neck and he lightly pressed a nipple between his teeth with growl as Briar gripped his long hair in anticipation.

Her white throat bared as she threw her head back in abandon at his ministrations. The front of her gown had twin spots of wetness where he'd taken her into his mouth, and he took one look at Briar's lovely, flushed face with its half-closed starry eyes and open lips before burying his face in her neck. As he branded her as his with a long, calculated suck on her white neck, his hands went under the nightgown that was hitched up to her hips and palmed her breasts as he sucked. Briar moaned at the intensity of his mouth on her skin. He growled again in satisfaction at the dark love bite he left on her neck before turning her head to the other side to lick her small round ear. She rested the palms of her hands on his broad chest. Eris loved the delicious sounds she made with every stroke of his tongue; it was as if the world had created this beautiful creature to react to him and him alone, and he had in turn been created to pleasure her for the rest of eternity.

But Eris couldn't have eternity with her. He would not. Even if he did, it would hurt her to grow close to his family, his history; he would hurt her. Briar's human lifespan was far too short to suffer through the gravity of Autumn's past while she lived. To suffer how females were treated here. To know how he'd treated Morrigan centuries ago. Eris couldn't bear the thought of polluting Briar— this wonderful being who barrelled into his much longer life just a few days ago— with his Court, the vestiges of his father's family legacy, with his damnable own self.  
He swiftly moved his hands from her breasts as if they burned him, and instead gripped her hard on the forearms to yank her away from him. He hoped his snarl didn't come across as half-hearted as it felt.

She stared at him, dazed and drunk on his kisses. Not comprehending. Her breath came in shallow little pants. The way her scent mixed in with his in the warmth of their craving—

"You come in here, hoping to trap me to you like a whore?" he forced himself to grit out.

Briar immediately stiffened. Her dark eyes flickered with hurt, then smoldered in anger. As she gracelessly scrambled off his lap and onto her feet, the hem that delectable nightgown chased her bare feet down. The front still clung wetly to her small breasts where his mouth had been. Eris felt his eyes burn as he watched her furiously pick up her shawl from the floor and stalk away toward the door, the ink of her streaming down her back in rippling waves.

She turned back to tell him, "You have been as much a whore as I have, Eris."  
A fire within him guttered and died out, extinguished in smoke and sparks, when the door shut behind her. 

**Hi reader, ACOTARIST here! I'm new to writing and publishing fanfiction, although I've been writing my whole life and am inspired by authors like Sarah J. Maas. Please feel free to leave reviews! Thanks so much for reading, and stay tuned for more on Eris and Briar! - ACOTARIST**


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